No clipboard bloated obese with papers. Red enamel skin. White veins. Black blood. In which is written all I've yet to know. Every letter shaped path through which it flows. Every drug that makes it spin. Chasing its shadow until the sun sets anew.
No click of the spring forcing the inky tongue out of its jaws. Gold letters on shiny black plastic facing me. As it struts to the rhythm of my mania.
It is written. Ever since. And until. Crumbles this cliff from my constant weight on it.
The needle to my veins it gives as much as it steals.
I'm always here. I never move from this edge.
But life is always changing what I see from here.
Tuesday
5/02/2006 09:24:00 PM
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